


Whump, There It Is

by olivebranchesandredwine



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Queer Relationship, Explosions, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, It will be ok in the end, M/M, Slightly NSFWhump, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, is whumpier and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivebranchesandredwine/pseuds/olivebranchesandredwine
Summary: David’s ears are ringing, the air heavy on his face. He struggles to take a full breath, gasping at the burning in his lungs before coughing up…something. It’s thick and sticky, bitterly metallic, and it makes him gag. There’s something familiar about the taste, the smell of it, but he can’t place it. Maybe if he could just get a good deep breath. Everything would be better if he could just take a moment and breathe.Why is it so hard to breathe? David has never had to remind himself to breathe before, has he? Why does he keep forgetting to do it now?Something isn’t right.--It starts with a bang, and they go from there. The multi-chapter whumpfic that I didn't set out to write but did it anyway.11/24 UPDATE:I added the alternate ending as a chapter because I got some requests to post it here, and it hasMAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.Please don't read that chapter if you don't want to encounter that.





	1. (Catch-up) No.1: Shaky Hands and No. 2: Explosion

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags for content warnings--there's violence and injury and illness--and note that there are a few chapters that get a little bit smutty.
> 
> I'm doing Whumptober 2019 according to the prompts [here](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/post/187356400823/october-approaches-and-so-does-whumptober-2019). Occasionally, I'll be using alternative prompts from the list available [here](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/image/187785926228), depending on my own squicks and such.

David’s ears are ringing, the air heavy on his face. He struggles to take a full breath, gasping at the burning in his lungs before coughing up…_something. _It’s thick and sticky, bitterly metallic, and it makes him gag. There’s something familiar about the taste, the smell of it, but he can’t place it. Maybe if he could just get a good deep breath. Everything would be better if he could just take a moment and breathe.

_Why is it so hard to breathe? _David has never had to remind himself to breathe before, has he? Why does he keep forgetting to do it now?

Something isn’t right.

The burning is getting worse and spreading up his throat, and the air is even thicker now, crushing him inside it like a vise. Suddenly David can tell that he’s choking, his own tongue too heavy to lift away from his throat. His lungs are burning because he can’t breathe and he knows that he needs to move; he needs to move _now _before it gets worse.

Somehow David is able to move, to roll onto his side; he doesn’t know how he did it, and _god_ he hopes he doesn’t have to do it again because now everything hurts. At least the burning in his chest isn’t quite so bad now; at least he can breathe a little better now. Even though the air is still heavy and hot. And David realizes that he can’t really see anything. It’s cloudy in here, and the air is dirty and the dirt is mixing with that thick _wet_ coming out of his mouth, and he’s gagging again, coughing and sputtering and everything hurts.

_Where’s Patrick?_

Patrick knows things. Patrick will be able to tell David what’s going on and remind him to breathe and make sure everything is ok. Because Patrick knows things and makes everything ok, and David is starting to worry because he doesn’t remember where Patrick is.

He doesn’t remember what happened before the ringing and the burning and coughing.

But Patrick will help. With shaky hands, he pats along his body, searching for his phone. It hurts to move his arms and makes him shake even harder, but he needs to call Patrick and know that everything is ok.

_Yes. _He reaches into his back pocket, jaw clenching through the pain in his shoulder and head, and he pulls his phone out.

**BOOM. CRASH.**

The second one is more violent than the first, but David doesn’t process it before the faulty gas line explodes, sending David off the floor and through the window.

—

Twyla doesn’t stop to think when she hears the first explosion from across the street. “CALL 911!” she screams at George as she rushes for the door. She’s almost to the Apothecary door when the second one hits, sending something…_someone, _she realizes—it’s David Rose—crashing through the window.

She runs to his side. “David?” she whispers, but it’s no use; he’s lost consciousness. She hopes that’s all it is.

_“BOB! Help me!” _her voice has never been that commanding, and Bob has never run that quickly. Together they manage to get David to the other side of the street, just before the last one hits, and Rose Apothecary goes up in flames.


	2. No. 3: Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David wakes up at the hospital, delirious. Patrick is concerned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is continuing from the previous chapter. I make no guarantees that this will end as a unified narrative, but for time being, it is. Also, please remember that I will always put them back together after the whump.

“David, sweetheart, I’m here,” Patrick’s voice is rough and scratchy; he might be coming down with a cold or something. David can’t remember if they’ve got any of that other tea from Mr. Hockley at home, the tea that_ isn’t_ weed, the one that Patrick likes to drink after play rehearsals and when he’s been performing. He should go check in the kitchen. He lifts a heavy hand up to wipe the sleep from his eyes and moves to get out of bed.

Only he can’t. Something sharp pinches at his forearm as he tries to move; his body is oddly heavy. David can still hear Patrick talking to him, but it’s not right; something isn’t right.

“Sweetie, don’t try to move. It’s ok; I’m here; just stay still.” Patrick is using his soothing voice, at least he’s trying to, but something isn’t right. He sounds more than hoarse; he sounds upset, and David doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Patrick?” he croaks. The sound of his own voice shocks David. _Oh god, _he worries, _I hope we’re not both coming down with the flu. _That would definitely explain why he feels so fucking _exhausted, _though.

“David…love, please, stay still. Just stay still until the nurse gets here. Can you do that? For me? Please?” And even though David is still so confused, Patrick knows the magic words, how to get him to do exactly what he wants. _For me? _David would build a ladder to the sky so that he could give his fiancé the moon, if that’s what Patrick wanted.

“Okay,” he mumbles, allowing his head to drop back onto the pillow. He really is so tired; hopefully a day of rest will help.

Patrick’s sniffling now. He needs a tissue. David opens his eyes and reaches for the box on his nightstand…only it’s not there.

His wrist bumps against the railing of the hospital bed, and the room echoes with the beeping of an alarm.

“What’s that?” David tries to shake the sound out of his head, only to realize that it’s not coming from his head. Something’s beeping, and suddenly he feels something cold against his skin. There’s a tube running from his arm to whatever is beeping on the stand by the bed. The IV taped to his forearm is where he felt that sharp pinch before.

“It’s just the flu,” he mutters, “can’t we just go ho—”

When David finally brings his gaze up to Patrick’s face, he’s speechless. Patrick looks _horrible. _Poor thing needs to rest. “Honey, let’s get you home so I can take care of you.” He starts to get up, and suddenly everything _hurts._

“David, please stay still.”

Why is Patrick crying? Why does everything hurt?

“Shhh, honey. It’s okay. You’ll feel better soon,” David reaches for Patrick’s face, but his other arm doesn’t want to move. 

The door opens and a tall woman with kind eyes walks in. “Mr. Rose, I’m glad to see you’re awake. I’m your surgeon, Dr. Sengupta. How are you feeling?”

“Pa—patrick…what’s going on?” David looked up at Patrick’s concerned face, then down at his body on the narrow hospital bed. He can’t quite process what he’s seeing. Bandages, casts, limbs in traction.

“Sweetheart, there was a gas leak—an accident at the store. You were there when it happened.”

“When…Patrick, when what happened?”

“David, the store’s gone.”


	3. No. 4: Wake Up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick and Alexis wait at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using an alternative prompt (from this [list](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/image/187785926228)) for today's whump. And I'm posting early, because [codswallop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop) asked me to.

“Wake up!” A shrill voice echoes inside Patrick’s head at whatever the exact pitch is that made every hair on his body stand on end. It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard, only the chalkboard happens to be on the inside of his skull.

“Ugh, _Pat-_rick,” it’s Alexis, he realizes. The voice reverberating inside his brain is that of his future sister-in-law. “I _said_ ‘Wake _up_!” He feels a gentle nudge against his shoulder, recognizes it as one of Alexis’s limp-wristed taps.

“What is it, Alexis?” he grumbles, and slowly presses himself up from where he’s been lying on the hospital loveseat. Between the drawn blinds and the fluorescent lights of David’s hospital room, he has no concept of time, no easy way to know just how long he’s been asleep. Patrick runs a hand across the back of his head and presses his fingertips into the knotted tension at the base of his skull. His head is throbbing; his whole brain feels _itchy _from sleep deprivation. He didn’t meant to fall asleep at all, though; hopefully he’d just started to doze.

“They just took David for another scan,” Alexis begins, concerned eyes trained on Patrick, watching for the slightest sign of distress. “They said this one is to see if,” she scrolls through her phone, finding what she wants, then reads, “the contusions and swelling in his brain have gotten any better.” Seeing the panic bubbling in his eyes, she quickly continues, “It’s standard protocol, that’s what the doctor said. You don’t need to panic. It’s not an emergency.” She gives his nose a half-hearted boop, then runs her hand soothingly along his forearm. “He’s going to be okay, button.”

Patrick has to break eye contact; he glances down to the scuffed floor and huffs out the breath he’s been holding, idly shaking his head and blinking back yet another round of tears. When he looks back up, his cheeks are wet. He gives Alexis a weak smile, “Thanks, Alexis. I don’t know—…I just…I couldn’t—” Patrick’s lips quiver as he shakes his head, unable to complete the thought that’s been haunting him since he got that call from Twyla 4 days earlier. _“Patrick, there’s been an accident at the store. You need to get to Elmdale General._”

Alexis wraps her delicate arms around his shoulders, draws him into a hug. “I know, I know, button.” Patrick is surprised at how solid she feels, how strong and tight she holds him. He tucks his face into her neck, inhaling the jasmine scent of her shampoo, and lets himself just _sob_, for the first time since the accident. He can let himself do this now, while David’s not here. He can let himself be comforted, be held.

“I can’t lose him,” he whispers.

Alexis just holds him tighter.


	4. No. 5: Broken Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick wakes to find David missing

****When he wakes up, Patrick doesn’t know what time it is, or what day it is, even. _Shit_, he thinks, _I need to get someone to cover at the sto—. _Oh, right. At some point he’ll need to meet with investigators and figure out insurance claims and all that, but all that can wait. It doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now. Nothing but David.

He wipes the crusts from the corners of his swollen, itchy eyes, and looks over at…the space where David’s bed should be. Suddenly, Patrick is on his feet, his heartbeat pounding a rapid, unrelenting tattoo against his sternum as his stomach attempts to make an ungraceful escape through his feet. His eyes dart around the room, searching out any hint of an answer for the question exploding through his brain._Where is he?_

Patrick sprints to the door, and is met by the infuriatingly mundane goings-on of the hospital. Nurses chatting at their station, people walking down the hallways like their hearts haven’t just been ripped from their chests. No sign of David.

“Where—David…my fiancé…David Rose?” he manages to choke out, his voice small andbroken, to the kindly-looking man sitting at the information desk. “Room B13?”

“Mr. Brewer?” The voice behind him is familiar, in the way that so many voices have become over the last week—authoritative, caring yet distant—the voice of someone who got to stop caring when they went home, of someone who isn’t living in the nightmare.

“Yes, where’s my fiancé?” Patrick whips around to face the source of the voice, a slight figure in green scrubs that he’s certain he’s met before, but at this point, they’re all just a blur ofscrubs and lab coats. She doesn’t answer right away. “What’s going on? Where’s David?”

“Mr. Brewer,” she begins, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, which has the opposite effect; icy tendrils reach out from her touch, wrapping themselves around his throat, his chest. “Mr. Rose had an…_episode. _He’s in surgery now.”

Everything starts moving in slow motion. Patrick sees her mouth moving, but can’t register the actual words; he feels his knees start to buckle, but is helpless to stop them. He collapses in the middle of the hallway.


	5. No. 6: Dragged Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie's at the hospital, worried about David and Patrick, and calls in reinforcements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this one early because I need to share the whump.

“When was the last time he went home?” Johnny considers the rumpled man sleeping fitfully,awkwardly curled up in the hospital recliner. “The boy looks exhausted.”

“Mr. Rose, I told you. He _hasn’t,” _Stevie knows she needs reinforcements; Patrick has refused every offer she’s made over the last…almost two weeks now. He hasn’t left this building since she drove him here. At least he’s starting to sleep now. For the first several days, he steadfastly—stubbornly—refused to close his eyes.Had the orderlies not physically restrained him, literally dragging him away from the surgical bay doors, he would have followed David into surgery. Thankfully, sheer exhaustion seems to have made Patrick slightly more pliable of late. She’s at least been able to get him to nap, to eat, and that one time, she even got him to tear himself away from David’s bedside long enough to take a shower.

It’s been nearly two weeks since it happened. Rose Apothecary, Moira’s Rose Garden—both gone, nothing more than rubble. The aftershocks from the explosions left several other buildings along Main Street in various states of disrepair, and now the town was buzzing with the sounds of construction as the other businesses hurried to rebuild. Stevie has taken to driving the long way to work so that she doesn’t have to see the cordoned off remains of her best friend’s pride and joy. It’s bad enough that she has to watch his fiancé fall further and further apart with each passing day.

David’s not getting better. Stevie doesn’t need to understand all the fancy medical terms the doctors are throwing around to see that; David is her person and she just _knows_ it. The waking moments are few and far between, and have become even more so with each passing day.

And although they haven’t talked about it—god, they haven’t managed to talk about _anything _over the course of so many hours in this room; they’ve just sat, staring at the silent figure on the bed—Stevie knows Patrick can see it, too. They’re both too scared to admit it, to say it out loud. As long as neither of them says the words, they can at least pretend he’s getting better.

Because even if David isn’t able to say it to her—_right now_, she forces herself to add on. He can’t say it _right now_, but he will be able to again, in the future, _soon, _dammit—she knows that he’s relying on her to keep Patrick going, to make sure he’s ok. Well, as okay as he’s going to get,under these particular circumstances. _Will either of them really ever be ok if David…if he’s—_Stevie can’t bring herself to finish the thought.

But first and foremost, Stevie knows that she has to take care of Patrick. David needs her to do that, and unfortunately, that’s going to require reinforcements.

“He needs to go home, to take a shower, eat something that isn’t from a vending machine or cold takeout,” Stevie blinks now, not wanting Johnny to see her tears, “David needs him to take care of himself.” 

“OK there, Stevie,” Johnny reaches an awkward hand toward the top of her shoulder, and balls it into a fist at the last second, transforming it to an awkward punch on the arm, “let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rose,” Stevie sniffles, tries to surreptitiously wipe the tear forming at the corner of her eye.” She goes back to sit cross-legged in the loveseat, fidgeting with a hole in her jeans.

Johnny tiptoes over to where Patrick is still sleeping, restlessly, in the recliner next to David’s bed, one hand thrown over the railing so that his fingertips rest against the disturbingly flat hair atop David’s head.

“Patrick,” Johnny nudges him lightly on the shoulder, draws his palm up to Patrick’s cheek, “Let me take you home for a while. David needs you to take care of yourself, ok, son? Stevie’s here. David won’t be alone.”

As Patrick wakes up, blinking everything into focus, he sees David in his father’s worried expression. He gives his head a shake and rubs his eyes. Stevie’s there, and she’s got that worried look that’s become her new normal, only now it seems to be directed toward him, rather than David. He needs to be strong now. For David.

Patrick turns his gaze to David, unmoving on the bed, still connected to all those tubes and wires and contraptions supposedly helping him heal. He leans over and presses a delicate kiss to David’s forehead.

“I love you, David. I’ll be back soon.”


	6. No. 7:  Isolation and No. 8: Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues: Stevie keeps vigil at David's hospital bed, while Patrick is away with a cold.

_Keep it together, Budd. _Stevie crosses her legs and pulls her arms into the sleeves of her oversized flannel shirt, trying her best to stave off the bone-deep chill that’s set in since she first set foot in Room B13.

“So, anyway…Mutt and I were in the back of Roland’s truck, just going at it, when Jocelyn and Gwen walked by,” she’s interrupted by dazed whine. David’s been restless today, even worse than yesterday—even unconscious it’s like he can sense Patrick’s not here—but this sounds different. “David? _David?_”

He turns toward her voice, begins to open his eyes. “Stevie?” he rasps. It’s the first time she’s heard him speak in nearly a week, and that rough-edged whisper may be the best thing she’s ever heard.

“Yeah, David. I’m here,” and _fuck_, she is not gonna cry now. Stevie squeezes his big hand with both of hers, and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Like…I don’t know. I hurt. Everywhere.” She can see the wheels turning as he takes in his surroundings, realization dawning, yet again. Each time he’s woken up, there’s been that moment of heartbreak, when he remembers what happened. Well, when he remembers what he’s been _told_ happened. _Rose Apothecary is gone. _Stevie squeezes his hand a little bit tighter when his face crumples, and does her best to keep hers from crumpling, too. 

“Where’s Patrick?”

_Fuck. _David’s more alert than he’s been in days, and Patrick isn’t here._ Patrick’s never going to forgive himself, _Stevie worries. She reaches into her pocket and dashes off a quick text.

Patrick  
  
**ME [7:01 PM]** David’s awake & asking 4 u.   
**PATRICK [7:02 PM] **Shit. Can you facetime?  **ME [7:03 PM]**doing it now  


_“_David, sweetheart?” Patrick answers almost immediately, looking even more disheveled and tired than he had when he got banished from the hospital. _Doctor’s orders; don’t come back until you’re fever-free for 24 hours, Mr. Brewer._

“Hold on, hot stuff. Let me turn you around,” Stevie deadpans, before turning the phone to face David. Stevie chokes back a relieved sob at the sight of her friend scowling at the phone before reaching his good hand up to smooth at his hair. _That’s my David_, she can’t help but grin.

“Don’t look at my hair,” David still sounds like he’s been gargling sand, but it’s _him, _in a way that hasn’t happen in two weeks, and Stevie can’t stop the tears from forming now, because it’s _David _and he’s awake and talking and worried about his hair.

Stevie just hopes Patrick’s back when he finds out about the incisions on the back of his head. That seems like the sort of thing best handled with distraction orgasms, and, well…_Been there, done that, probably should’ve deleted the pictures. _But that’s probably not the mental image she should be cultivating at the moment, holding the phone for David to talk to his button-face fiancé.

Attempting to give the men at least some semblance of privacy, Stevie takes stock of the spartan hospital room, doing her best to ignore the conversation happening little more than a foot away from her. Mrs. Rose insisted on “curating” the get well gifts that had arrived, which meant that the tackier gifts—aka, most of the balloons and flowers—from well-wishers have been removed. And although Mrs. Rose said she was acting on her maternal aesthetic instincts, whatever the fuck _that _meant, Stevie couldn’t help but notice how those brighter bouquets and balloons had somehow found their way into the rooms of some of the less popular patients on the floor. All that was allowed to stay in B13 were minimalist sprays of white with an occasional dash of red.

David’s starting to slur his words as he speaks; the hand covering his hair has flopped back down onto the bed.

“I hate to interrupt you guys,” Stevie cuts in, “but I think David needs to rest now.” Patrick is whining at her through the screen, but David is quiet, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you, Patrick,” he breathes, “I miss you so much.” His head lolls a bit to the side as he drifts into sleep.

Patrick sighs loudly—grumpily, if Stevie were to put a label on it—but admits defeat. “I love you, David. I’ll be back with you as soon as I can.” 

Stevie turns the phone around, gives Patrick a long, hard look. “You look like shit, Brewer. You know you need to take better care of yourself if you want to get cleared to come back.”

“I know,” he grumbles. “I’m working on it.”

“Really? Has your fever broken yet?” Patrick’s face moves through about a hundred emotions in a second before he settles on something that looks like resignation, or maybe just exhaustion, and just shakes his head, pitifully.

“Twyla said she would bring by some of her aunt’s special tea and some soup for you when she finishes her shift. She swears that it’s the best cold remedy she’s ever tried. So…uh, maybe it won’t kill you?” 

“Thanks, Stevie,” Patrick is quiet, sincere in that way that makes Stevie itch, “For everything.”

“Of course, Brewer.” Stevie needs to shake off the emotion. David’s not _better enough _yet, and if she starts with the emotion now who knows if she’ll be able to stop it, “it’s just tea and soup. Not like I let you fuck in my bed or something _major_.” Patrick gasps out a wet laugh at the memory, blinks back unshed tears.

“Go get some rest, Patrick. I’ll text you if anything changes.” 

David’s resting peacefully as she hangs up the phone, less agitated than he was before speaking to Patrick. Thankfully.

Now, if only there was some way to get his stubborn fiancé to follow his doctor’s instructions so that he could get his ass back to this god-forsaken linoleum prison. Clearly, the Roses weren’t big enough guns. She pulls a wrinkled post-it from her jeans pocket and contemplates her next step, then dials a number.

“Mrs. Brewer, this is Stevie Budd. We met at Patrick’s surprise party…”


	7. No. 9: Dehydration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is "Dehydration." And guess what, today's whump isn't on poor David! Patrick has not been taking care of himself, and it's caught up with him.

Cassandra. The chick from mythology that nobody ever fucking listened to? That was her name, right? Stevie types “Cassandra myth” into the search bar and waits for the hospital’s geriatric wifi to process. Yup, that’s her. Thanks, [wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassandra): “a woman in Greek mythology cursed to utter true prophecies, but never to be believed. In modern usage her name is employed as a rhetorical device to indicate someone whose accurate prophecies are not believed.”

_I’m the fucking Cassandra of Schitt’s Creek._ Stevie shakes her head in bleak satisfaction. _Goddammit_.

Stevie presses a gentle kiss above David’s eyebrow, and whispers, “I’ll be back soon.” He stirs slightly as the touch, but his face stays slack in rest.She slides the phone back into her pocket as she leaves David’s room in the all-too familiar Critical Care Unit and makes her way to the elevators at the other end of the hallway.

Past the car accident coma guy in B11. _He got the daisies from Twyla and George at the cafe. _

Past the old lady in B8, the one with the broken hip and head injury who got really upset at night. _Mrs. Rose gave her the balloon bouquet from David’s old boss from the Blouse Barn._

Time and space seem to dilate as she walks down this hallway. It’s like it gets longer every time she makes the trek. Over the past two weeks and 3 days, Stevie has become intimately familiar with this hallway. With the pinned up warning posters and the hand sanitizer stations. With that dip in the floor just past B6. With the flickering fluorescent light in the ceiling tile just to the left of the stairwell door.

As she waits for the elevator, she pulls the phone back out and checks her messages.

Alexis  
  
**ALEXIS [1:21 PM] **West Building, Room 619  **ME [3:01 PM]**D finally sleeping. On my way now. U still there?  
Alexis is typing...

At the sound of the elevator’s arrival, Stevie shoves her phone into her back pocket. The connection gets flaky as fuck in the elevator, anyway. 

When the elevator reaches the lobby, Stevie pretends for a moment that she’s leaving the hospital, even thought she’s walking outside into the brisk winter air without her coat. The wind bites through her flannel shirt, but at least the sun is shining. She turns her face up toward the sky and closes her eyes, basking in this moment of faux-normalcy. 

Until some jackass crashes into her as he’s leaving the building. 

“Watch it, bu—,” Stevie’s voice catches as she sees the jackass’s tear-streaked face. 

He looks at her, his eyes red and swollen, and mumbles out a barely audible “sorry” before breaking contact, staring back toward the ground as he wipes a tear from his eye. 

Stevie knows that look. She knows those tears. 

“It’s ok,” she offers, "I shouldn't have been standing here like the guy in Shawshank." 

He looks at her for a moment, the corner of his mouth crooking into the barest hint of a smile. And with that, he’s gone, become just another moving figure in the distance.

A particularly strong gust reminds Stevie that she left her coat in David’s room, so she quickly crosses the quad to the West Building and marches up to the Information desk to show her visitor pass. 

“I’m already here with another patient in Critical Care; do I need to get a new pass to visit someone here?” She’s tired and grumpy now, and hopes to skip all pretenses of small talk with this volunteer who looks an awful lot like Jocelyn Schitt. Chatty. 

“No, sweetheart, you’re good. Do you know the patient’s room number?” Chatty Volunteer seems to sense her tension, thankfully, and skips to the point. 

“619. Patrick Brewer.” 

“Sixth floor, and you’ll make a right out of the elevator. Have a good visit!” 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. 

Alexis  
  
**ALEXIS [3:05 PM] ** Just left. There were needles involved 😷🤢💉 

_Goddammit, Brewer._

* * *

There’s a station with face masks and hand sanitizer outside room 619. Stevie rubs the sanitizer into her hands, and grabs one of the masks. The last thing David needs right now is for her to get sick, too. 

Patrick gives a weak attempt at a smile when he sees her. His hair is mussed, and the dark circles under his eyes have gotten even bigger. 

“You still look like shit, Brewer,” she scolds. “Are you actually gonna start listening to someone else now?” 

“Stevie—,” he rasps out, but he’s too exhausted to put up much fight, “I’m sorry.” 

She reaches for the hand not currently taped up to the IV tube and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not alone, you know? You don’t have to take the weight of the whole world on your shoulders by yourself. You’ve got family that loves you.” Stevie looks down at their hands, suddenly choked up. “And right now that family needs you to listen to the doctors so that you can get better. _We_ need you to get better.” 

The idea has floated around her head over the last few years, but Stevie’s never let it solidify enough to put it into words. _Don’t name the puppy, Budd._ Because giving it a name will just makes it hurt worse when it goes away, and Stevie doesn’t want this to go away, what she’s found with the Roses. 

“I need you both, Brewer. You’re _family_, and I can’t lose you, so you need to fucking get better _now_,” she mutters. 

Patrick squeezes her hand and whispers a faint “thank you.” Stevie pulls yet another uncomfortable hospital chair up to his bedside and sits down.

“Oh, and, it’s not that I don’t trust—no, it is that. It’s exactly that I don’t trust you to do what you’re told. But anyway, I talked to your mom and your parents will be here in the morning. You're gonna get better if I have to kill you to make it happen." 

Patrick rolls his eyes at her, but does it _fondly_, the way he does when he's doing it to David. Good. The fluids are already helping him perk up. Stevie gives him a shit-eating grin, and then pulls up Netflix on her phone. 

“Nailed It?”


	8. No. 10: Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David wakes up in B13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is where my brain went, y'all. Get whumped.

The room is dark and quiet when David wakes.

It’s beyond unusual.

He hasn’t been alone since he’s been here. Shackled to a bed even more uncomfortable than his lumpy old bed back at the motel. Well, ok, David knows he’s being dramatic. It’s not like he’s _really _shackled, not like that time Sebastien left him trapped in bed for three hours while he went to photograph (let’s be real—fuck) Tilda and god knows who else that time in Cannes. Intellectually, David knows this. When he’s not loopy from the morphine, he knows that it’s for his own good.

But staring down at the casts on his arm and leg, his head immobilized by the terribly incorrect halo brace thingy, the tubes and wires and everything stuck to him and in him? It’s hard not to feel claustrophobic. Trapped. Terrified.

And, ok, if he’s being completely honest with himself? Waking up alone for the first time in forever is…kind of a relief. The Roses aren’t terribly good at keeping secrets. And they’re certainly not the best at keeping calm as they carry on. Waking up alone in this dingy hospital room like this? For the first time in weeks, David feels like maybe he’s going to be ok, after all. If they’re willing to leave him alone, they must know he’s not on the verge of death. Truth be told, the isolation is reassuring.

Well, at least it would be, if he knew where Patrick was. Time has been fuzzy (_thank you, Mr. Morphine Drip_), but it feels like he hasn’t seen Patrick in ages. But that can’t be right. Patrick wouldn’t leave him for long.

David knows it’s the drugs that are making the edges of his memory blurry. 

He’s just a little confused. Because of the accident that happened. What happened again? David knows he should remember it. Maybe when he’s not so tired he’ll remember it again.

_Patrick must be at the store now, _he thinks to himself. It’s the only logical reason he’s not here. The store. What was it Patrick told him about the store? Something important.

He calls out Patrick’s name to the empty room, and closes his eyes, sure that Patrick will be back when he wakes up.


	9. No. 11: Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After drifting in and out of consciousness, David wakes to a new visitor.

A soft voice murmurs as warm fingertips graze David’s forehead, gradually pull him into consciousness. There’s something familiar about the voice, the touch, but in his sleep- and narcotic-addled haze, he can’t quite place it. His eyelids flutter, allowing him to take in small chunks of information about his surroundings.

Room B13. His current prison. _Check_.

Left leg immobilized in an ugly off-white plaster cast from toes to thigh. _Check_.

Right arm…in some sort of weird bionic looking brace thing. _That’s new._

“Hello, my sweet boy,” the familiar voice continues, stroking his forehead. David turns toward the speaker—_wait, he can turn his head again. The brace is gone. Another something new to process_—and sees the kind eyes of Marcy Brewer staring down at him.

“Mrs. Brewer?” his voice is breathy and grumbly from disuse. “Wh-when did you get here? Where’s…is Patrick ok?” David lifts his head and scans the room, his head wobbling and throbbing from the motion. Apparently, he’s got a new, _really low_ bar for what counts as exertion these days.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Marcy soothes, although her brows knit together in frustration, “he’s fine. _Stubborn, _but fine.”

“What happened?” Even if the hitch in his breath didn’t give it away, the sudden beeping from heart rate monitor reveals the spike of anxiety.

“David Rose,” Marcy speaks sternly, much like he imagines she would have done to a disobedient Patrick years ago, “Look at me. I _promise_ you he’s ok.” The hand caressing his forehead drops to hold his cheek. “Now try to settle down. Deep breaths, alright?”

There’s a heft to her words, a gravitas that wraps around him like a soft sweater. He believes her. She says Patrick is ok, and he believes her. _So this is what it’s like, _David thinks to himself, _maternal authority. _David remembers how Adelina used to comfort him when he got hurt or sick as a kid. Marcy’s voice feels an awful lot like that.

“Your friend Stevie called us a few days when Patrick got sick,” she puts a finger over his mouth and tuts at him before he can interrupt. “It’s just the flu, and he’s already getting better. _I told you, _he’s ok.” David opens his mouth, but Marcy continues with a raised eyebrow. “He got a little dehydrated and needed to be hospitalized for a few days, but he’s home and resting now.”

“Um…ok,” David hesitates, “th-thanks. And, uh, my family?”

Marcy smiles kindly at him. “They’re in Schitt’s Creek for the afternoon. Clint and your father are helping Patrick handle the some paperwork for the store, and your mother had a council meeting. They’d said you were still spending a lot of time unconscious after this latest surgery,” she gestures to his braced right elbow, “and hoped they would be back before you woke up.”

David isn’t quite sure what to say. “Thank you for staying. I still get a little disoriented when I wake up here,” he looks down awkwardly, and admits the fear more to his lap than to Marcy. 

“Shh, sweet boy,” her brushes her fingertips along the top of his head, “I’m glad I can be here to help.” Marcy leans in close and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “And to be honest, I think Patrick is glad I’m here with you. I still need to have a very serious conversation with that boy about keeping things from me, and I think he’s afraid of me right now.”

David gives her a crooked smirk and chuckles; for all his claims about being a take charge guy, Patrick Brewer has a tendency to turn into quite the bashful clam when it comes to talking to his mother. David imagines what it must have been like when preteen Patrick broke a window with a baseball, or missed curfew, or whatever sorts of things regular kids would get in trouble for.

Suddenly a loud quack echoes through the room.

“Oh!” Marcy rushes over to the table and rummages through her purse. A quack ringtone? If David weren’t so charmed by Mrs. Brewer, he would certainly cringe at that. Probably.

Marcy smiles as she checks the caller ID, and walks back to Davids bedside. “Hold on, sweetheart,” she answers as if she were continuing a conversation already in progress, and then gently places the phone next to David’s ear as she tells him, “It’s for you.”

David’s face lights up as he hears the voice on the other end.

“Hi, gorgeous. I miss you.”


	10. No. 12: Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: stitches. David discovers something Patrick has been keeping from him.

“No.”

He’s had three surgeries to repair organs and bones. It’s been weeks since he was able to do a proper skincare routine or even shower. The hair growing back in the places they shaved his chest for the stupid sensors itches. He can’t move enough in the stupid traction device to scratch at the worst spots, and Patrick’s been useless to help. He’s too afraid of getting banished by the Charge Nurse again to do anything even remotely against the rules.

Rose Apothecary is a pile of rubble. Their store, his _baby_, is gone.

“No. No. No.”

All things considered, David has handled the shock of the situation remarkably well. He’s healing, albeit slowly, and Patrick assures him that they’ll be able to rebuild. Eventually, once he’s recovered.

“No. _Nononononononono_!”

But this? This is too much. David has finally reached his breaking point. His eyes flood with tears—of sorrow, regret, rage, frustration, of all the things that have been building up over the last month.

“_I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!_” David rails at Patrick, who’s moved to cower behind his dad.

“David, sweetheart, I didn’t want you to be upset,” he pleads, head peeking out from behind Clint’s head.

Out of the corner of his eye, David can see Marcy and Stevie smirking at each other on the loveseat. He gives Stevie a withering glare; he can deal with this betrayal later. Right now, he’s too busy snarling at his fiancé.

“You. Should. Have. Told. Me.” His voice goes cold and quiet, the way it does when he’s channeling Old David. Patrick pulls the curtain around his bed, leaving his parents and Stevie on the other side.

“I’m sorry, David,” Patrick has come back to his bedside and is running a tentative hand across David’s forehead. “In the grand scheme of things, it was kind of low on my priority list. I’m just so glad you’re getting better.” Patrick bends down to press a gentle kiss to David’s temple, lets his fingertips graze across the top of David’s head, his nails scratching lightly. 

David wants to stay angry; he wants to lash out, but Patrick’s voice is so gentle, his touch so soothing on David’s itchy scalp. 

“No more secrets, Patrick,” David whispers, “You promised.”

Patrick gazes down fondly at his beautiful, disgruntled fiancé. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” He punctuates each sentence with delicate kisses to David’s forehead. “Forgive me?”

David’s tears have begun drying on his cheeks, and as he watches Patrick’s face, he feels the anger melting away. Or maybe it’s just that he’s too tired to hold on to any major emotion for that long right now. Especially when Patrick’s scratching his head like that.

“You’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again.” Patrick leans in closer, brushes the tip of his nose against David’s.

“I promise,” Patrick kisses David softly, “Never again.” More chaste kisses. David hums contentedly into them.

“And I promise, love, it will grow back.” Another round of kisses. “Now that the stitches are out, they don’t have to keep it shaved any more.”

“Well, that’s good,” David pouts, albeit half-heartedly.

“And even with that bald spot,” Patrick teases, “I still think you’re still beautiful.”

“BALD SPOT, Patrick? _Seriously? _INCORR—” Patrick licks into David’s mouth, silencing him in the best possible way. David sighs into Patrick’s mouth. 

_After all, _he reminds himself, _it’s only hair. It will grow back._


	11. No. 13 and 14: “Stay quiet” /“Don’t move”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are alone. Relatively speaking.

“Shhhh, you need to stay quiet, love,” Patrick whispers, “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

David hisses and bites his lower lip when Patrick’s hand moves up his right leg, fingernails scraping the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. His dick is definitely interested in the current proceedings, which is making it very difficult to follow Patrick’s directive. He lets his head fall back against the pillow, closes his eyes and basks in the intimacy of Patrick’s touch. _God, I’ve missed this._ He fails—ok, let’s be honest, he admits, he’s not really trying that hard—to choke back a moan as Patrick’s hand reaches the crease of his hip.

“David,” Patrick warns, stilling the movement of his fingers, hand resting enticingly close to where David’s interested cock is now tenting the faded green hospital gown.

“Please, Patrick,” he whimpers, high and desperate, giving an infinitesimal thrust of his hips, “please.”

And with that tiny motion, they bring down the wrath of the gods of hospital recovery or something; suddenly, several alarms on the monitors next to David’s bed are beeping and ringing a cacophonous warning to the whole floor.

As though the store, the injuries, his hair weren’t punishment enough, David pouts, a thwarted handjob after weeks of no contact from anything but a catheter? _Clearly I was a spin instructor in a previous life. Goddammit._

“Shit. David, are you ok?”

David, already mourning the loss of Patrick’s hand under his gown, groans in frustration until he notices the panic in Patrick’s voice. He opens his eyes to see Patrick’s brow furrowed with worry.

“Fuck. I’m fine, sweetie. I think I just jostled something loose.” He gestures vaguely at his crotch. “And....um, I’m frustrated...with this situation?”

Patrick tries, in vain, to suppress a proud grin as he looks at the bulge under the sheet. Thecorners of his lips tug down, but his eyes can’t hide his satisfaction.

When a frazzled nurse arrives moments later, Patrick shoves a blanket over David’s lap to hide the lingering evidence of any inappropriate activities. Although, to be fair, none of David’s doctors have told him that he can’t get a handjob, so maybe they weren’t really breaking any rules in the first place. It’s something to think about.

Once she’s checked all the monitors and connections and silenced the alarms, the nurse leaves them alone, shutting the door loudly behind her as she goes.

David quirks an eyebrow at his fiancé and flashes a seductive smirk—well, as seductive a smirk as he can manage with the world’s worst bedhead in a hospital gown—and purrs, “Now where were we?”

He’s met with Patrick’s bashful smile, that adorable one he makes when he’s too embarrassed to lift his head, so he glances up through his lashes. David would probably do anything for that smile. He’d definitely kill a man for it. He’d probably even wear Wranglers for it. Maybe.

“I don’t know, David. I don’t want to set off those alarms again.” Patrick’s voice is serious, stern almost, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. He leans in close to, ghosts his lips over David’s, nuzzling their noses together, until their breathing syncs. David glides the tip of his tongue across Patrick’s bottom lip, equal parts hesitant and teasing, until, sighing, Patrick parts his lips further and lets David in.

“Touch me,” David moans, before kissing his fiancé in earnest. And when he hears Patrick’s breathy little whine, he knows that he’s going to get what he wants.

Patrick slips his hand under the blanket, scratches up David’s uninjured thigh, pausing with his fingers almost touching David’s balls. David’s cock twitches in anticipation, feeling the heat of Patrick’s hand like an electric current moving through his body.

“Please, sweetie,” David whispers, his breath catching in his throat. “Please.”

“OK,” Patrick gives in, just like David knew he would, “I’ve got you, baby. But this time? Don’t move.”

He takes David’s hard length in hand, and slowly, carefully gives him what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know about y’all, but I needed a smuffy little interlude


	12. No. 15: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is in a rehab facility now! He's getting better! But maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're familiar with my work, you will see that this chapter is very much on brand.

For most of his life, David Rose has had access to the kind of concierge medicine and skincare that meant he didn’t have to worry about scars. At least not the kind on your body. His only scars upon his arrival to Schitt’s Creek were of the emotional variety. And, well, he’s certainly a patchwork of those. But at least, these days, the lines of that patchwork are blurring, the edges no longer sharp and jagged. Everything is fading into something softer, something comfortable, like his one of his favorite fuzzy sweaters, or that snuggly navy blue hoodie he steals from Patrick when he’s alone at the apartment. 

Over the last few years, David has found himself settling into his own skin, allowing himself to appreciate, if not outright embrace, the bits of himself he once deemed too damaged to share. David recognizes that those emotional scars, which continue to fade, are part and parcel of the life he lived that brought him to where he needed to be—to _who _he needed to be—to find happiness.

And the man dozing in the recliner next to his bed is a big part of that happiness. David grins at his sleeping fiancé, who is currently snoring, and maybe drooling a little bit onto his blue sweater. _God, I love him so much._

“OK, David, let’s get you back into bed,” Tyler locks the wheelchair in place at the foot of the bed and flips the footrests up.

“Ugh,” David groans dramatically as the nurse’s assistant invades his personal space to manhandle him out of the chair. This is the worst part of the physical therapy sessions. Probably. Well, aside from the actual sessions themselves, with the exercises and the relearning to walk and to hold a pencil and put on a shirt and the sweating and bone-deep exhaustion stuff. OK, so maybe the whole thing is kind of a pain in the ass, but at least he’s had a change of scenery.

It’s nice to be away from the hospital, even if the accommodations aren’t exactly what he’d call an “upgrade.” Certainly nothing like the rehab centers he…ahem…_visited_ in his younger, wilder days, that’s for sure. This is not a hideout for the stars, by any means. David’s easily the youngest patient by at _least _two decades. And the only patient here for “explosion-related injuries” in a sea of joint replacements and broken hips.

So much for vibing with a younger crowd.

But, to be honest, this new routine at the rehab center is…nice. David didn’t realize just how much he had missed the familiarity, the comfort of their daily routine until it was shattered. He appreciates having his daily therapy appointments noted out for him on the schedule by his bed; knowing what meals will be served in the cafeteria well in advance; having time and space just to _himself, _with more than a few feet and door that won’t lock between him and the rest of his family. Being crammed into approximately 450 square feet with three other adults for years on end has not been the most ideal of living situations for an introvert who needs his down time. A shoebox-sized private room in a long-term rehabilitation center may be a far cry from the live-work spaces of his past, but it’s definitely a step up from the Rosebud Motel.

David glances at his sleeping fiancé. _Fiancé. _They’re getting _married._

He’s been hesitant to discuss their living arrangements, even after the engagement, after his last major misunderstanding. Intellectually, he knows that marriage will, at some point, necessitate moving in together. But he doesn’t want to be the one to broach that topic. That’s one scar that is still too fresh. He won’t make the same mistake twice. David is, and always has been, a quick study, especially when it comes to acts of self-preservation.

As Tyler finishes checking David’s vitals and recording the information on his chart, David settles back into the bed, and slips a hand underneath his shirt to scratch at one of the places where the hair is growing back out on his chest. It’s nice to be out of those scratchy old hospital gowns that didn’t cover his ass. He looks down at the heather-grey t-shirt with its cracked, faded Blue Jays logo spread across his chest, and the soft, navy blue cut-off sweatpants. Thus far, 100% of David’s Rehab Center Looks have come from the Patrick Brewer collection. Not fashionable, by any means, but they’re soft. And smell like Patrick. They smell like home. Because Patrick is _home._

Suddenly, the efforts of the day are overwhelming. He’s been working so hard. So hard, for so long, and it just isn’t enough. He’s never enough. He will never be enough. The knowledge falls heavy on his soul, and all at once, David can’t breathe. David’s eyes prick with tears and he struggles to take in a full breath, gasping as his chest is gripped tight in an icy cold vise; his throat is closing up, he fears he’s going to choke on his own tongue.

David recognizes the onslaught of the panic attack but is unable to do anything to stop it. This one is bad, worse than it’s been in years. “Patrick?” he whispers, shakily, right before he passes out.

The monitor beside the bed rings out, startling Patrick out of his nap.


	13. No. 16: Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick wakes up

_They’re walking together, hand in hand. David flashes him that soft little grin, the one where he smushes his lips all the way to the left and just shakes his head a little. The little grin Patrick watched blossom over his entire face from across the room the first night he sang to him. The grin David saves just for him, the one that means he’s happy; he’s loved; he’s safe. And knowing that he’s played a part in making David feel those things lights Patrick up from the inside._

_Patrick stops abruptly, tugs at David’s hand, pulling it up to his lips. He’s smiling dopily, and doesn’t care that he stopped in the middle of Main Street on Tuesday morning because he feels so utterly and completely right in this moment and just needs to kiss David _right now. _He wraps his free hand around David’s neck and pulls him in close, ghosting his lips across David’s, nuzzling their noses together, rubbing his clean-shaven cheek against the the stubbly edge of David’s jaw._

_“I love you, David Rose,” he whispers as he meanders back to David’s lips, offering his mouth up for David’s tongue to explore._

_“I love you, too, Patrick Rose,” his husband answers back, punctuating his words by licking into Patrick’s mouth, which pulls tiny groans and whimpers from deep within Patrick’s throat. He loves his new name on David’s lips—the sound of it, the taste, the feel. It sends shivers up his spine in a way that he never knew he wanted. David and Patrick Rose. The Roses, proprietors of Rose Apothecary._

_David draws away and walks forward, somehow wrangling his keys from the pockets of those skin-tight, faded jeans. Patrick just stands there, admiring the view, watching his husband’s ass wiggling slightly as he unlocks the door to the shop. _God, that ass…

**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

_The sound comes from nowhere, from everywhere. Patrick covers his ears, cringing as he looks around, searching for the source of the alarm._

_“David!”_

_David doesn’t acknowledge the sound. Doesn’t he hear it? Patrick stumbles, falls to his knees as the piercing noise grows louder. It feels like the sound is coming from inside his head now, the shrill beep echoing through different parts of his skull._

_David is still oblivious as he opens the Apothecary door and walks inside._

_“NO!” It takes a fraction of a second, and it’s not enough time to stop it, but it feels like an eternity. Patrick watches helplessly, frozen on his knees in the middle of Main Street, as the store erupts into flame with the love of his life inside. _

_“David!”_

**BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP**

Patrick wakes suddenly, his whole body jerking as if he’d just landed from harsh fall.

“David?”

His eyes dart around the room as his brain frantically struggles to parse out dream from reality.

The sound.

The beeping.

It’s happening here. The heart rate monitor.Something’s wrong.

_“_David…sweetheart…_David!”_

Patrick runs to the door, yelling out to whoever might hear him.

“Somebody, we need help in here!”


	14. No. 17: “Stay with Me”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick wakes up; David’s gotten worse.

“David,” Patrick interrupts himself to pepper frantic kisses along David’s temple, his cheeks, the rough stubble along his jaw, “David, wake up. Please, sweetheart, wake up for me.”

“David…sweetheart…David!”

Nothing. Not even a flutter of his eyelids. What’s happening? He’s supposed to be getting better.

Patrick pushes the call button on the nightstand again, hoping like hell that someone will come. Why is no one coming? The alarm has been going off for ages, and nobody is doing anything. He glances down at his watch and does a double-take. It’s only been one minute since he woke to the monitors shrieking.

But still, that’s at least two minutes longer than it should have taken. He kisses David’s forehead, then rushes to the door.

“Somebody, we need help in here!” Patrick barely recognizes his own voice as he shouts, gravely and rough and desperate.

Behind him, Patrick hears the bed rattling, a sudden, cacophonous commotion. He turns to see his fiancé’s whole body convulsing. His head is rolling and shaking against the pillow, his injured arm banging the railing.

Patrick watches, helpless, and screams out. “Someone, help!”

“David, I’m here. Can you hear me, baby?” he brushes his fingertips against David’s forehead, now gone pale and cold; his eyes are rolled back in their sockets. “David, sweetie? I’m here,” he whispers, desperate for any indication that David can hear him, that David knows he’s not alone. “I’m here.”

In a flurry a movement, two nurses rush in, one pushing him out of the way as the other pulls the curtain around the bed. Oh god. Just before he’s completely closed out from David’s bedside, Patrick’s eyes zero in on the corner of David’s mouth.

That’s blood.

There are more voices around him now, more people have made their way into the small room. He can’t make out their words, but they’re talking—shouting—while the alarms continue to wail. Ambulance, he thinks he hears, and seizing and coding. As his brain struggles to process what’s going on, the room starts to dilate and contract around him; the world has gone fuzzy at the edges. He feels the rush of his blood pounding inside his head, matching the pace of his rabbiting heartbeat; his legs have gone wobbly.

The next thing he knows, he’s on the floor. His knees throb from the sudden impact. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the man behind the curtain.

“Stay with me, David,” Patrick pleads, “stay with me.” His face is wet; he doesn’t remember when he started to cry.

EMTs burst into the room; suddenly the medical team is transferring David’s now still body from the bed to the stretcher. He watches helplessly as the stretcher holding his fiancé is wheeled out of the room. 

“I need him. Please.” Patrick sends up a silent prayer to who or whatever might be listening, wishes that he had held on more firmly to the faith that had been more a matter of habit than of belief growing up.

“Please, let him be ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone knows, Delilah McMuffin’s last whumpdate about killed me, so I KNOW HOW Y’ALL FEEL and am looking forward to putting the boys back together at month end.


	15. Tear stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny tried to comfort Patrick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short drabblish chapter today because I am too excited about UC&P to whump too hard. 😘

“You need to get some rest, son,” Johnny knows that he’s wasting his breath, but useless advice and an awkward pat on the shoulder are all he has to offer right now. “Maybe you should head home for a while. There’s nothing you can do here, now, and they said it will be a while before we’re able to see him in the hospital, so you might as well go where you can be more comfortable.”

Patrick startles at the touch, slowly looks up at him with glazed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Johnny wonders how much of what he just said, if anything, has registered. Patrick looks like he’s been through the wringer. Johnny recognizes that look, too; he remembers seeing it in the mirror all those years ago when he almost lost Moira and David all at once.

“Let me take you home.”

“O-okay, Mr. Rose,” Patrick mumbles, his voice flat. He makes no attempt to move.

“Come on, son. Let’s go,” Johnny bends down, puts a gentle hand on Patrick’s back to guide him to his feet and takes Patrick by the hand.

Patrick stares at the empty bed as Johnny leads him toward the door. His gaze remains fixed in that direction long after they’ve left the room.


	16. No. 19: Asphyxiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the seizure, David's back in the hospital; Patrick has to talk with the doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing catch-up today after my whirlwind UC&P weekend. BTW, if you get a chance, GO SEE IT.

“Our biggest concern right now is that the seizures have started to disrupt David’s breathing. We’ll need to keep him here for monitoring while we sort out the meds and get a better handle on the frequency of these episodes.”

Patrick struggles to listen to the doctor, focusing all his attention on the shape of her mouth as she speaks as if, somehow, _watching _the words coming out of her mouth would make them easier to process. It’s not helping. His brain went offline around the time she mentioned “risk of asphyxiation” and has been stuttering along somewhat helplessly ever since.

“Mr. Brewer?” Dr. Whatever-Her-Name-Is looks pointedly at him, apparently waiting for him to speak, and if he was thinking clearly maybe Patrick would bother feeling sheepish, but he just can’t bring himself to give a single fuck at the moment.

Oh…um, sorry. What was that?”

“Have you and Mr. Rose spoken about his wishes regarding life-sustaining treatment?”

Life-sustaining…

_What?_

The room closes in on him, the edges of his vision going all dark and cloudy. Patrick gives his head a quick shake, hoping for— _something. _Maybe this time it will wipe the slate clean, like an etch-a-sketch, and he’ll wake up in bed, arms wrapped around his fiancé, and all of this will fade into the recesses of his mind, an awful dream to be forgotten.

Nothing.

He shakes his head again. Looks around the room, hopefully. Nothing has changed.

“I-I…um, I…” he trails off as his gaze again fixes on David’s still form. “W-what?”

“It’s a precaution, Mr. Brewer, but it’s important that we discuss it, just in case. Have you and your fiancé talked about his wishes regarding life-sustaining treatment options?”

Patrick shivers as though the temperature has just dropped 10 degrees; he can’t control the way his voice breaks as he chokes out a response, “Um…I-I…no. W-we haven’t.” He glances back to the doctor for just long enough to see her face soften, and somehow, that makes everything worse. He can handle no-nonsense practicality; that at least provides an illusion that it’s all business as usual. But sympathy? It’s too much. Something’s definitely wrong if she’s making that face. Patrick looks back to David, rubs a hand over the thick, soft hair that’s grown from his jaw. He knows David hates it, would roll his eyes in disgust at looking like a vagrant mountain man (“It’s _incorrect, _Patrick!”), but Patrick finds comfort in how David’s beard brushes against his fingertips.

“Mr Brewer?”

_Shit. _She’s talking to him again. _Why won’t she just leave? _It takes all the willpower he can muster to tear his eyes away from David, to at least feign attention at her as she continues to speak.

“I think it would be helpful to have that conversation,” she continues, gently, once he’s looking at her. “The next time he’s lucid today, have the nurse call for me and we can go over everything together.”

Patrick just nods, mutely, his fingertips still idly rubbing against David’s jaw. He’s kind of looking at her now—at least, he’s looking in her general direction—but he doesn’t see her. All he can see as he runs his fingers through David’s beard is David. Laughing, as he leaned against the counter in the store. He had been laughing _at _Patrick when he left that morning, but Patrick doesn’t remember why. He can’t remember what they’d been teasing each other about during that last conversation before he left for Brenda’s farm, but they had been laughing and David’s eyes had been crinkled up in delight as he rested onto the counter, leaning forward so that he could kiss Patrick goodbye. He was laughing into that kiss—_god, I love making him laugh_—and it had broken off, abruptly, because David couldn’t stop laughing. David laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes, and Patrick _loved _that he could make David that utterly _giddy._

Patrick looks at David now, unmoving between the padded rails of the hospital bed; he feels the tear slide from the corner of his eye, and doesn’t try to stop it. 


	17. No. 20: Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David lashes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, y'all, my brain. My brain is wicked.

“Do I need to call Alexis?” David manages to keep his head still, although he can’t keep the frustration out of his voice. Patrick winces at his words, and for a split second, David regrets saying them.

But enough is enough. It’s not like _Patrick’s_ the one trapped in this stupid bed, sharing a room with a _stranger. _As if the weeks of confinement in fucking B13 weren’t bad enough, this time around, David doesn’t even rate a fucking private room. So not only is he stuck here, listening to a stranger make sounds that involve way too much mucous and wet coughs—the nurses continue to ensure him that that his roommate is _not _contagious, but David has his doubts—he’s here by _himself _because Mucous Man complained about David’s “constant guest” so Patrick can’t even stay overnight anymore. Patrick gets to go home and sleep in his comfortable bed in his comfortable apartment, and David is stuck _here_.

It’s too much, and David is fucking done with it. The very _least _Patrick could do is help him get rid of this goddamn fur on his face so that he can at least _pretend _to feel likehimself again and not like he’s trying to cosplay motherfucking Mutt Schitt.

Patrick’s hands are trembling, both of them—the one holding the razor and the one resting against David’s cheek. Now his bottom lip is, too, and for a moment, David feels regret like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach, because _he _did that, made his fiancé’s lip quiver with his sharp words, with the roll of his eyes.

But it’s only for a moment because it’s still_ too goddamn much._ Patrick doesn’t get to be the emotional one right now. That’s not _fair. _David is the one who hasn’t gotten to shower in over a month, who has to have fucking _nurses_ come help him use the bathroom because he can’t wipe his own goddamn ass, for fuck’s sake. David is the one who just wants _something _in his life to resemble what he used to recognize as normal. It’s not like David is asking him to do his K-beauty routine from memory; he just wants to shave this _goddamned beard _off his _goddamned face, _and Patrick can’t even fucking hold the razor steady.

“Just…put it down,” David huffs, “I’ll get Alexis to help me.” He lets his head drop back onto the pillow and closes his eyes. And yes, maybe he is being a little dramatic, but he’s tired and fucking sick of this whole situation.

“I-I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Patrick’s voice is small, broken. And so goddamned sincere it makes David’s heart hurt. He hates it when Patrick’s upset. He hates it when Patrick’s upset because of _him. _

But it’s too much. It’s all too_ much_ and Patrick’s puppy-dog eyes and trembling lips and soft voice are_ just too motherfucking goddamned much_ and David can’t take it anymore.

“I can’t deal with this right now, Patrick. Just…just go home,” he practically spits at his fiancé, and _fuck_, he might as well have slapped him. Patrick recoils like he _has _slapped him, and David can’t remember a moment where he felt like a worse person than he does in this moment. And yes, a big part of him wants to apologize and draw Patrick into his arms for a hug and feather gentle apology kisses all along his face and neck, but, as David bitterly reminds himself, he _can’t _do that because his elbow is still broken and the anticonvulsants he’s taking would make him vomit at that kind of sudden movement, anyway. So he closes his eyes and just shakes his head.

“O-okay, David.”

It’s that goddamned quiet voice again, and it breaks David’s heart even as it makes him want to throw something against the wall.

“I love you,” Patrick’s voice is breathy as he speaks the words. David bites his tongue, squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Patrick standing there, waiting for him to respond.

Finally, he moves to the door; David unclenches his face as the footsteps fade into the distance.

“I love you, too,” he whispers to the empty room, his own lip now trembling, and lets the tears fall.


	18. No. 21: Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie comforts Patrick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you all so glad that you didn't have to wait until tomorrow for this one? Maybe y'all can put down the pitchforks now?

There’s a lost puppy on her sofa.

A lost puppy in the shape of an auburn-haired man in a rumpled blue sweater and saggy, faded jeans. He’s holding the mug of tea in his hands, just like he’s been doing for the last half-hour, and Stevie’s pretty sure that he’s not actually taken a drink yet.

Trails of his tears, now drying into crusty stripes, stain Patrick’s cheeks as he stares vacantly past his mug. _Goddammit, David,_ _couldn’t you have pulled this shit on me?_

“You _know _he loves you, right?” Stevie can’t believe she’s actually having to _say _this to Patrick, but he’s just sitting there, so lost and broken, and apparently she’s the only person who can pick up the pieces because her idiot best friend decided to lash out against the puppy dog instead of the cynical asshole. “It’s David being David. We knew it was coming.”

“It’s…I-I just…what if,” Patrick stumbles to express the beginnings of several thoughts at once.

She sits down next to him and rubs the top of his back, only slightly less awkwardly than Mr. Rose would do under similar circumstances. “Talk to me, Brewer.” She brings her hand to his cheek, gives it a gentle press so that she can look him in the eye.

“I’m scared to lose him,” Patrick’s eyes fill with tears and he casts his gaze down to the sofa cushion as he forces the words out.

“I thought you said it was just a precaution,” Stevie starts.

“N-not the directive,” he rushes. “M-me…what if…w-what if he leaves me?” Patrick’s voice is tiny now, desperate.

“Brewer, why the _fuck _would you even think that?” Stevie is genuinely floored. David Rose would walk through hell in a polyester suit for the man currently sitting next to her and crying into a lukewarm mug of tea 

“The store’s gone. And I’m…I haven’t really been that useful at getting anything sorted with insurance and the settlement and I couldn’t do the _one _thing he asked me to do today and they won’t let me stay with him while that man with the cough is in the room and what if he just realizes that he’s better off without me?” With that, Patrick’s whole body deflates like a popped balloon. His shoulders sags as he drops back against the sofa cushion.

Stevie sits there, incredulous, and just watches him.

“Okay, first of all…you realize you’re a fucking moron, right?”

Patrick startles at her words, casts a confused glance her direction.

“I mean, _seriously_, Brewer. Did you actually _listen yourself _just now?” The puppy has now cocked his head to the side in his confusion.

“That is, without a doubt, the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said,” she continues, “and I’ve had to listen to you wax poetic about _David Fucking Rose._” Patrick continues to stare at her, but Stevie can see a flicker in his eyes as the tension cracks, just a bit.

“I know that you’re both scared and exhausted and frustrated,” Stevie soothes, “but if there is one thing that you don’t need to worry about? It’s David Rose leaving you. He loves you more than Mariah, you fucking idiot.”

That annoyingly fond smile finds its way to the corner of Patrick’s mouth as he opens his arms for a hug.

“Thank you, Stevie,” he whispers.


	19. No. 22: Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so David cracked a bit yesterday. Here's the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs to send [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing) gifts of tenderness and love for giving me the idea for this decidedly un-whumpy chapter.

A soft voice murmurs as warm fingertips graze David’s forehead, gradually pull him into consciousness. There’s something familiar about the voice, the touch, but in his sleep- and drug-addled haze, he can’t quite place it. His eyelids flutter, allowing him to take in small chunks of information about his surroundings.

David has been here before. He recognizes the metallic, antiseptic smell of the room, the familiar scrape of the rough hospital gown fabric against his skin; even the full thud of the ever-present headache is oddly welcome when accompanied by those soothing fingertips on his face, the lilting voice singing softly, warm lips pressed against his ear.

“Patrick?” he manages to croak out, weakly, before he’s overcome with tears. Because it’s not a dream. It’s worse than a dream, because he’s awake. He’s awake and hallucinating and Patrick isn’t really here. 

It must be the meds. Complex auditory verbal hallucinations. The doctors said it could happen, and that’s what it has to be. Because he sent Patrick away. David finally snapped, and he had snapped at _Patrick _and now he’s alone because he fucking made his favorite person in the world _cry _because of a stupid beard and now he’s hallucinating the most painful thing he can imagine because he sent Patrick away and David deserves to be alone and suffering.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s ok. I’m here,” his hallucination whispers close against David’s ear, so close that David can feel the hallucination’s breath against his neck. Which…ok, seems strange. But the doctors did say _complex_, didn’t they?

“Patrick? Are you a hallucination?” David asks, knowing full well that it’s a loaded question, because it’s not like he can trust a hallucination to tell him the truth, but it still seems like a very necessary thing to ask.

The hallucination laughs at him, a soft, delicate thing, but a laugh nonetheless. “David, you’re not hallucinating,” Patrick mutters against his ear, nuzzling his nose against the much too long hair on David’s temple, down onto the beard that David’s just going to pretend isn’t actually there for as long as this hallucination holds out. At least it’s a nice one, a comforting one.

“Patrick, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” David mumbles against the surprisingly warm, solid neck of the Patrick his mind has conjured, “I’m sorry. I love you. Don’t leave me.” He feels warm tears slide down his cheeks, notices them dropping down onto Patrick’s blue shirt, leaving dark spots standing out against the pale blue Oxford.

_Wait. Why would his tears stain a hallucination?_

Something isn’t right. It doesn’t add up. Is he hallucinating?

“Patrick?” David quirks his head to the side, looks directly into the eyes of his fiancé. “Is that really you? For real?”

Patrick gives him that fond grin, the one where his mouth is smiling upside-down, and nods, “Yes, love. It’s me.” He’s blinking rapidly, David notices, his own eyes wet with unshed tears.

“You came back?” David is crying harder now, pulling Patrick closer as best he can with the limited mobility of his good, yet IV-connected arm. He’s fluttering kisses at every part of Patrick that he can reach—his cheek, his jaw, the underside of his chin, that spot to the left of his Adam’s apple. “I’m so sorry, Patrick. I love you. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. I love you.”

“Of course I came back, David. I love you,” Patrick’s cheeks are wet now, too, and he’s responding to David’s kisses with frantic ones of his own, to David’s left eyelid, right temple, the bridge of his nose. “I love you so much, David,” he punctuates each sentence with another kiss. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Patrick brings his forehead to rest against David’s, cups his jaw with both hands, scratches his fingernails through the beard that, incorrect though it may be, he finds unbearably sexy.

“Always, love. I’ll always come back. You’re stuck with me, David Rose.”


	20. No. 23: Touch-starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's smut, y'all. Enjoy.

“Fuck,” Patrick’s not usually one to drop the F-word, but at the moment, it’s the only word that wants to make its way out his mouth. “Fuck oh fuck oh fuck…” he breathes the word like a prayer into David’s mouth. The angle is awkward, but Patrick doesn’t care because David’s got a hand on his dick and for the first time in two goddamn _months _Patrick remembers what it’s like to feel like this, to be so close to that edge, and it’s so goddamn intense his legs might actually give out.

“Mmhmm,” is all David can answer because his mouth is otherwise occupied, nipping and licking its way from Patrick’s swollen lips along his jaw to his ear. He gives the lobe a soft tug with his lips, sucking gently, before moving his focus down to the pulse point and biting down. Pleased with the groan that elicits from Patrick, he soothes the spot with his tongue before starting to nibble and suck. And all Patrick can think as David leaves what he’s sure will be a _very _noticeable hickey on his neck is _fuck professionalism _and _yes more please._

Months. It has literally been months.

In his previous life, that wouldn’t have been a problem. Sex was never that high on his list of priorities. Orgasms were nice, of course, but could get…_complicated_, especially when other people were involved. Of course, that was before David Rose. And just like he had done with pretty much all aspects of Patrick’s life, David Rose took everything he thought he knew about desire and shifted it about 23 degrees to the left.

_God, I’ve missed this. _Patrick is still surprised by the intensity of his reaction to David’s touch; all these weeks of worry and waiting have led him to lock sex into a box to be opened at a nebulous later date, as David’s health allows. Patrick has always been excellent at compartmentalizing his feelings.

But now? Everything is rushing back, magnified. David, lying there in Patrick’s faded college tee-shirt and cut-off sweatpants, looks like a _meal _and Patrick can’t be certain, but this may be the most turned on he has ever been.

David’s hand is strong and soft on his length, thumb gliding over the tip, spreading the pre-come around his head. Patrick is embarrassingly close already, and David hasn’t even started to stroke him yet.

“_Fuck, _David,” he moans, breath catching in his throat as his knees buckle again. “Are you sure this is ok? I don’t want to hurt you.” _Please please please let this be ok. Don’t stop_.

David grins up at him, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with arousal, and just nods slowly.

“Take off your pants, Patrick,” he growls. 

_Fuck. _The command sends sparks straight to Patrick’s dick, makes him shiver all over.

“Yes, sir,” he’s clumsily groping at his sweatpants, pushing them down to his feet, confused when they get caught on his sneakers. David laughs as he watches Patrick struggle to toe off his shoes and kick off his pants while staying close enough to the bed for David to continue thumbing over his leaking dick.

“Now what?” The intensity of Patrick’s gaze stops David’s laughter in its tracks, and soon his own eyes reflect Patrick’s molten, unbridled hunger.

“Get behind me.” David rolls gingerly onto his right side, resting his broken leg on pillows.

“A-are you sure?” Patrick stammers, the desire to take care of David butting up against nine weeks’ worth of pent-up horniness.

“Yes, Patrick. I want this. I _need_ this,” David wags his eyebrows suggestively, the corner of his mouth quirking into a teasing smirk, “And besides, I’ve been researching.” Patrick feels his own eyebrows try to float to the ceiling at that admission; he moves to the foot of the bed and climbs in, as carefully as he can manage. It takes a bit of fumbling, but he maneuvers his way underneath David’s IV and is soon rewarded with the sensation of the back of David’s body pressed firm against his front with David’s head resting on his bicep.

“And, um…can you help me get these shorts down?” David huffs in frustration as he wrestles with the drawstring of Patrick’s shorts, but Patrick makes quick work of shoving them down below his hips, careful not to jostle the cast on David’s thigh.

“Research, huh?” Patrick licks a stripe up the back of David’s neck, nips at his ear. “And what have you learned in your studies?” He rubs his cock between David’s cheeks, teasing them both at the delicate touch. David reaches underneath his pillow and hands Patrick a small vial.

“Thank Stevie later,” he whispers mischievously.

If he wasn’t so hard up, Patrick might bother to be embarrassed, but in the moment, all he can think is, _Thank you, Stevie Budd._

He opens the lube with a snick and pours some into his hand. He slicks his cock up and slowly guides it between David’s thighs before reaching to wrap his fist around David’s length. It feels so good, so intense, so goddamn _right _as he pushes deeper between David’s legs, feeling the head of his cock slide against David’s perineum, pressing up behind his balls.

“Not gonna last, babe,” he manages to stutter out, fucking between David’s thighs as he jerks David faster, harder.

David only moans nonsensically in response, grabbing Patrick’s unoccupied hand and licking at his fingers before sucking two into his mouth. And with that, Patrick falls over the edge, coming with a loud groan and spilling between David’s thighs. As he shudders through his orgasm, he increases his speed on David’s cock and is quickly rewarded with a gasp and choked cry from his fiancé, “Fu—ngggh!” Patrick works to catch as much of David’s release as he can, then gentles his hand to work him through the aftershocks.

“Fuck,” Patrick’s brain is once again stuck, and that seems the only fitting word for the moment. He brings his left hand to his mouth for a taste.

“You are downright sinful,” David mumbles, watching Patrick lick his fingers clean.

Patrick just grins dopily at his beautiful, fucked out fiancé and presses a delicate kiss to histemple.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers against David’s ear.

But David’s already fast asleep. Patrick pulls the blanket up over both of them, snuggles in close, and within minutes, is sleeping just as soundly.


	21. No. 24: Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys wake up after their sexy times. There is laughter. There is embarrassment. There is the author's attempt at Moira-speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest reader, have we turned a corner? Have we arrived at the comfort part of the whumpfest? I hope so. Posting twice today because it's been _a day_ and I wanted to get something off my to-do list.

“Ew, David!”

Somehow, even though it’s been months since he’s woken to that shrill voice, it’s still too soon. David’s brain—well, his mouth, at least—goes on autopilot, “Fall off a ledge, Alexis.”

“Oh, _Day-vid, _remember that time in Dubai when you came and watched me BASE jump from the Burj Khalifa? That was _so much fun!_” Alexis clasps her hands under her chin and grins, a full-body, bouncy affair.

“Um, do you mean that time I had to negotiate your ransom with an Australian drug syndicate? It wasn’t fun for me,” David snaps. Patrick chuckles quietly, pulling himself closer against David’s back. David’s whole body tingles at the sensation of Patrick’s warm breath against his neck.

“Good morning, Alexis,” Patrick offers, much more genially than David could muster at this time of the morning. Evening. _Fuck. _David doesn’t know what time it is, anyway, but it’s still too damn early for the “Ew, David!” show. It’s _always_ too early for that.

Alexis prances over and gives Patrick a delicate, limp-wristed nose boop. “Good morning, button! Mom and Dad are on their way in, so you really should…you know, get dressed, unless you want a Safe, Sane, and Consensual lecture from your future in-laws.” She purses her lips together and gives a wide-eyed, slow blink at them both.

David doesn’t have to turn his head to know that Patrick’s blushing; he can feel his fiancé’s cheeks heating up against his back.

“What’s wrong, honey?” David giggles, “You don’t want a kink lecture from television’s Moira Rose?” Alexis joins him, laughing at Patrick’s obvious discomfort. 

“But seriously, Patrick,” Alexis does a one-eighty, going from schoolgirl giddiness to deadpan, “you really should get up and freshen yourself up. They’ll be here soon and you’ve totally got sex hair.” She goes to open the room’s only moveable window. “And it smells like the inside of a condom in here. Woof, David.”

Patrick’s burrowed under the sheet now, his face shoved between David’s shoulder blades. “This isn’t happening,” he repeats under his breath.

David’s shoulders quake with laughter; he hasn’t felt this utterly _light _in weeks. “Seriously?” he teases, “we had to fuck in a hospital bed because I got _blown up at the store _and _this _is what’s too much for you?”

Patrick groans into David’s back, then slowly emerges from under the covers. “Could we maybe _not _talk about sex in front of your sister, David?”

“Yeah, David,” Alexis chimes in, “maybe wait until after Patrick’s grabbed his underwear from the end of the bed rail to embarrass him.” She gives Patrick another annoying slow blink, and David bites back his laughter.

All of a sudden, the door swings open, and David feels Patrick tense up.

“Knock, knock! Hi kids!”

“We could hear the mirth all the way down the hall, children! Whatever has sparked such merriment in here this morning?”

Patrick burrows underneath the blankets.

“Oh my _god!_” David huffs,_ “_Could you _knock _first_?_”


	22. No. 25: Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Roses are all here, and Patrick is embarrassed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers, the whump has taken a turn for mortification. But we're closing in on the end of the month, and I think we're all about due for some more light-hearted fare. 
> 
> Also, because I have been whumping myself right along with y'all, I have decided to post as soon as I finish these chapters. And if that means posting early, so be it. This fucker has been INTENSE.

“Knock, knock! Hi kids!” Mr. Rose’s voice carries, echoing throughout the room.

_Fuck._

Patrick burrows deeper into the blankets, wishing like hell that he hadn’t fallen asleep bare-assed the night before, wishing that, for once, he was as fastidious about postcoital cleanup as David.

“We could hear the mirth all the way down the hall, children! Whatever has sparked such merriment in here this morning?” Of course Moira’s here too. It would be too much to ask to have this humiliation limited to his future father-in-law.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

Patrick tries not to think about the dried lube and come currently cementing him to David’s ass,tries not to squirm in a futile attempt to put some distance between their naked bodies.

_Fuck fuck fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck._

What had Alexis said about his underwear? _Shit. _He doesn’t remember tossing them over the rail, but then again, last night had been a bit of a blur. A hot, sexy blur. He feels the blush creeping up from his chest just thinking about last night, about fucking into David’s gorgeous thighs, hearing him whimper and moan as he came in Patrick’s hand. _God._ Patrick had missed those sounds. Just thinking about them made his dick start to twitch.

_Shit. Fuck. Fucking Fuck. Goddammit. _Patrick closes his eyes and thinks of England. Thinks of Ronnie calling him a thumb. Thinks of…his in-laws walking in on him plastered to David’s back in a tiny hospital bed, where they’re currently trying to have a conversation.

That works. He lets out a relieved sigh, realizing belatedly that they hadn’t yet noticed him.

“Oh, sweet Pat, I didn’t see you in there,” Mrs. Rose intones.

_Shit._

Reluctantly, Patrick emerges, a bit sheepish, from his blanket cocoon. “Hi, Mrs. Rose. Mr. Rose,” he offers, quickly running a hand over his head in hopes of eliminating any evidence of sex hair. 

“You’re looking well, son,” Johnny gives him an awkward pat on the shoulder, “It’s so nice to see you looking so well-rested. You, too, Pat! You look like the weight of the world’s been lifted off your shoulders!” David elbows him beneath the blanket, and Patrick feels the blush spread to the tops of his ears.

“Thank you, Mr. Rose,” Patrick ducks his head against David’s back, lowers his voice to barely more than a whisper, “it’s easier to sleep when I know David’s ok.” At that, David squeezes Patrick’s forearm tighter to his chest. Patrick holds on for dear life.

“Mom…Dad,” Alexis begins, “I think they could both use a little more rest this morning. Why don’t we go downstairs for some tea?” Patrick notices her swipe his briefs from the rail as she approaches the bed and then discreetly tucks them behind his back.

Patrick mouths a silent “thank you” to her as she leans over to kiss David’s cheek. Alexis gives him a gleeful slow blink in response.

“Take good care of my big brother, button,” she teases. “We’ll be back in an hour.” 


	23. No. 26: Winded and No. 27: Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, look who's going home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers, I hope you all enjoy the tender comfort and hand-waving of this chapter.

“You’re doing so well, David, we’re almost there.”

Winded just from the short walk from the car, David just glares at Patrick. He’s got a death grip on the handles of the stupid walker thingy, because this is _nothing _like what he’d been practicing in physical therapy. Couldn’t Stevie have paved the whole parking area before he got out of the hospital? It's not like she didn't have _plenty of time. _This uneven terrain is going to be the death of him, and after all he’s been through, dying from slipping on loose gravel at the motel just seems like such a pointless way to go. 

“I mean it, love. I’m so proud of you. Let’s get you inside.” Patrick comes up behind him and snakes his arms around David’s waist for a quick hug.

“You’re distracting me,” David whines, “I need to focus.” But he still leans into Patrick’s touch, resting his head back against the top of his fiancé’s shoulder. 

“I can’t help it,” Patrick nips at David’s shoulder before squeezing him tight. “I’m just so glad you’re home.”

“Yeah…h-home,” David mutters to himself as he looks at the dilapidated chair outside the door of his room, “Motel sweet motel.” He blinks a few times at the thought of being here, of here being home, still. It has to be the dusty parking lot. His eyes are stinging because of the stupid dust in the stupid gravel parking lot. David shakes loose from Patrick’s embrace and trudges forward.

“I…I have absolutely no clue where my keys are,” David sighs as he reaches the door. It’s been so long since he’s done anything _normal. _It’s going to take some practice to get back into the habit of things. Like carrying keys and wearing actual clothes. That’s something normal people who aren’t trapped in hospital rooms and rehab centers do. Granted, normal people don’t need a nap after walking ten feet from the car. David realizes that he’s still got a long way to go to get back to even a Rose family version of normal.

Patrick’s on it, though. He quickly brushes past David and pulls his own key chain from his baggy, not-for-work jeans. David shakes his head in fond annoyance as his fiancé’s hand disappears deep into his front pocket, full of keys and his phone and what looks like the outline of a small accordion, maybe? _No, a harmonica,_ he proudly thinks to himself; _wait,_ _does Patrick play harmonica? _David hopes he remembers to ask him later.

As Patrick opens the door, he looks at David with an excited, albeit confusing smile. _It’s just a door._

“Thanks, sweetie,” David speaks quietly as he maneuvers his way into his room. And stops in his fumbling tracks.

The twin beds are gone, and in their place is a queen-sized one with a fluffy white duvet and mounds of pillows. At the center, a single red rose.

“Wh-what? I…I don’t understand,” David’s voice is shrill, breathless as he takes it in. “What’s going on?”

“Welcome home, love,” Patrick whispers into David’s ear. “I hope you don’t mind having company here while you’re recuperating. And when you’re up to tackling the stairs, we can get you moved in to our place.”

David feels the tears sliding down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care.

“I love you, Patrick.”


	24. No. 28: Abandoned

“Hi David, it’s Patrick.”

David sits in a folding chair in the center of what used to be Rose Apothecary and remembers that fateful day he met the love of his life. Remembers sitting in this very space, high out of his fucking mind and terrified that he was going to fuck this up, like he’d fucked up every other good thing in his life. He also remembers trying not to fixate on the annoying man’s sexy forearms as he rambled through the eleven attempts to explain his business plan in those voicemails.

Years later, Patrick still likes to tease him about those messages. He still has them saved on his phone, but he has never once offered to play them for David. And although David would never dare to admit it, he finds it endearing. He’s pretty sure that Patrick knows, anyway.

So much has changed. David lets his eyes wander over what used to be his beautiful store, the place that he and Patrick nurtured from the ground up, currently reduced to little more than some wooden framework. He looks around the emptiness that used to hold a carefully curated selection of artisanal local goods. His eyes fall on the space where the counter used to be, to where his business license in that godawful, absolutely perfect frame was displayed for everyone to see.

David feels the tears well up and sting his eyes; everywhere he looks, another reminder of what he’s lost. For the second time in his life, his world was turned completely upside down, everything _literally _went up in smoke.

And yet…this time it’s different. When his family first came to Schitt’s Creek, David’s life was in chaos. Everything and everyone he ever knew abandoned him to the wolves, to the obscurity of rural Canada. He lost his stuff, he lost life as he knew it. He lost it all.

But this time? David’s eyes sting now, but they’re stinging with tears of…_gratitude? _Is that what this feeling is? Because for all the literal pain and suffering he’s been through in the last few months, he realizes, he hasn’t actually _lost _anything but stuff. And stuff that they sell in an inventive, immersive branded experience that can and will be rebuilt, no less.

David chokes out something that’s part laugh, part sob at the realization. Sitting here in the middle of dusty, burnt-out husk of his former pride and joy, David is crying and laughing and absolutely certain that everything is going to be ok. Because he’s got Patrick and his family and the community rallied around him.

It’s overwhelming to think about it, to let himself _accept _it. David Rose finally belongs, is part of something bigger than himself, and all he had to do was get lost up Schitt’s Creek to make it happen.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Patrick’s voice wraps around him warm and smooth like honey, “are you ready to go?” He bends down to press a gentle kiss to David’s temple, and his breath catches at the sight of David’s tears. “Hey, hey…it’s all gonna be ok, love. I know it looks bad, but Ronnie’s crew is gonna have everything done before you know it.”

David gives his fiancé a fond little smile, feels his eyes crinkling up at the corners. _Wrinkles be damned, _he thinks. _Smiles for Patrick are worth it._

“Mmhmm, I know,” he wipes his eyes with the corner of Patrick’s blue hoodie that, if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d come to love as much as his own cashmere. And, of course, there’s the added bonus of being able to use it to wipe away tears, something decidedly incorrect when dealing with luxury knits. “I’m just…well,” David grimaces, “thinking about all that I have to be thankful for, I guess?”

Patrick rewards that disgusting bit of vulnerability with one of David’s favorite smiles, all wide and bright, and envelops him in a “not-quite crushing because David’s still healing” hug.

“Let’s go home, David,” Patrick whispers, and helps David make his way to the car. Both men grin as they pass by the large wooden sign in front of the construction site. 

_Rose Apothecary will return. Visit us online for more details!  
http://www.roseapothecary.com_


	25. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Patrick chat about music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is today's whump prompt, and is a reference to the Linkin Park song, too. This is a bit of a change up, I admit, but I'm tired of the whump. Sue me.

“No, Patrick.” David stares down at their interlaced hands, watching the streetlights reflecting off the gold of his rings.

“David, I like [this song,](https://open.spotify.com/track/2nLtzopw4rPReszdYBJU6h?si=FwzaFosVR0KMS94yuSvszg)” Patrick complains, “and besides, how many times have we listened to the Glitter soundtrack...just this _week_?”

“No Linkin Park, just leave it at that,” David shifts uncomfortably in his seat, refuses to bring his gaze up to meet his fiancé’s.

“_Seriously_? Which one?” Patrick sounds a little giddy, starstruck, even—definitely not his usual, measured reaction to those slips of tongue and other moments when David has spoken of his past. “What? _Really? _Was it _m__ore _than one?”

“We’re _not_ doing this.” David rolls his eyes, frustrated that he finds Patrick’s fanboying so goddamned endearing. Because they are _not _going to have this conversation tonight. Nope. Not. Happening. 

“Just know that you’ve made my fifteen year old self_ very _excited with this information.” A goofy grin spreads across Patrick’s face as he glances at David, then brings their hands up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, his eyebrows wagging in delight.

David shakes his head—adding in the tiniest of shoulder shimmies for emphasis—in seeming annoyance, but his lips smush to the left in that way they do when he’s trying to hold back a smile. Patrick knows this crooked smirk; Patrick absolutely adores this crooked smirk.

“So can we listen to it, David?” he starts in, eyes already crinkling up in an accomplished smile, “Please? For Thirsty Teenage Patrick?”

“Fine, but _don’t ask. _And only if it’s the [Jay-Z version](https://open.spotify.com/track/5sNESr6pQfIhL3krM8CtZn?si=6UjjWKtyTzyvRl7S3HjZxA).”

“Thank you, David.”


	26. No. 30: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's smut. That's the summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the penultimate whump, and we are firmly in the "comfort" portion of the show. Thank you all for coming along for the ride, and prepare for some fluffy feelings tomorrow.

If David has to be awake at such an ungodly hour, Patrick sucking his dick sure as fuck beats the alarm on his phone. David wakes to his fiancé’s warm mouth sliding up and down his cock, tongue laving the head while a single finger teases the delicate skin around his hole. David’s favorite way to wake up. And when Patrick decides to practice his deep throat technique? Mmmm _yesplease_….thankyouverymuch. By the time his brain has registered that this is more than just a lovely dream, David’s hands are wrapped around Patrick’s head, his hips thrusting against that adorable, flushed face. He’s already on the verge of orgasm when Patrick slides that finger inside him, searching out the sensitive bundle of nerves and then giving him just enough pressure to make David see stars.

“Mmm—gonna come,” he manages to choke out, just in time for Patrick to. . .“What the fuck, Patrick?” David snaps, because his asshole fiancé has taken away that beautiful mouth and hand, and is just sitting there _grinning up at him._

“Good morning, love,” Patrick chirps, way too amused with himself, “what’s wrong?” David throws a pillow at him.

“S’not funny.” And yes, David realizes he’s pouting, but _that’s just mean. _“Why’d you stop?”

Patrick slinks up the bed, nuzzling and kissing his way up David’s body until they’re face to face. Patrick rests his weight on his arms, slotting David’s stronger thigh between his own, and slides his tongue along David’s pouty bottom lip. “You taste good when you’re grumpy,” he murmurs, before sucking that lip between his own.

“Thanks, honey,” David gasps into the kiss, “but you didn’t answer my question.”

Patrick shifts his weight so that he can grind his ass down onto David’s erection.

“Did you know your parents were going to Elmdale today?” Patrick has a familiar gleam in his eye, and that adorable flush has spread down his neck and to the tops of his ears. “And that they’re going to be back tomorrow?”

“Oh,” David’s eyes and smile grow wide. “Oh.”

“So I was kinda thinking, maybe we could…” Patrick trails off, suddenly bashful, an image of delightful contradiction straddling David’s hips, rubbing his ass along David’s dick while shyly chewing on his lower lip, “I mean, if you think you’d be up for it, anyway…maybe w-we could, you know, try…”

And ok, it’s adorable and endearing but also Patrick was being a teasing little shit not five minutes ago, so David doesn’t go easy on him. 

“Try what, sweetie?” David schools his expression into one of wide-eyed curiosity as he thrusts up between Patrick’s cheeks, pleased by the whimper that jostles from Patrick’s throat.

“Oh _fuck, _David. I need you inside me,” Patrick moans, his head thrown back in pleasure as he rolls his hips, “want you to f-fuck me. I’ve missed you so much.”

David is taken aback by just how quickly Patrick has escalated from bashful to thirsty button, and _well. _He’s certainly not one to discourage that sort of wantonness in his upstanding business major beau. He slides his hands underneath the hem of Patrick’s t-shirt, eager to touch bare skin, and grazes his blunt nails along the sensitive flesh of his lower back.

“Can we…_fuck _that feels good,” Patrick rocks so that he can slide his clothed erection alongside David’s, “d-do you think it would be ok?” He mouths along the side of David’s throat, nips gently at his corner of his jaw, the spot behind his lobe. “I can do all the work. I’ll be good, David. So careful. Let me ride you,” he begs, “please, let me ride your cock.”

Patrick’s eyes are so dark as he looks down at him. There’s a hunger behind them that David hasn’t seen since those early days of making out against the stockroom wall, of fumbling hand jobs in the backseat of Patrick’s car, back when it was all new and so goddamn intense that David had felt like it was all happening for the first time for him, too.

It’s been so goddamn long.

Months of recovery, of hospital beds and rehab and now, being stuck in a room ten feet and a faulty lock away from his parents, it’s like they’re back at that beginning. They’ve been hobbling along, subsisting on quiet, soft touches—Patrick’s teasing, warm mouth working him, gently and delicately toward quiet, careful orgasms; Patrick spooning him, fucking into his thighs as he whispers sweet nothings into David’s ear. Patrick has been careful, _so careful _with him and it has made David’s heart feel like it will burst. He loves this man _so fucking much _but it’s been _so goddamn long _since they fucked hard and wild and careless.

David wants to bury himself inside his fiancé, wants to feel Patrick take control of his own pleasure and ride his cock until he’s fucking screaming, wants to feel Patrick’s ass clench down on him as he comes, wants to feel Patrick just _let go. _David’s not going to break, and he desperately needs to show Patrick just how much he won’t break. 

“Yes,” he manages to breathe out as he reaches a hand up to guide Patrick’s face closer to his, “let’s do that.” He pulls him into a vicious, bruising kiss, tongue forcing its way into Patrick’s mouth as he thrusts his hips, grinding his cock into Patrick’s. “Now.”

Patrick whimpers into David’s kiss, his whole body trembling in anticipation. He lifts himself up to his knees, reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off, even though David’s told him time and time again that it stretches out the neckline, but staring up at that pale, broad chest, now splotchy with arousal, David can’t bring himself to give even a solitary fuck about that shirt. He reaches up and drags his nails down Patrick’s pecs, ghosts his palms over his nipples until they’ve hardened against his touch. _Fuck_, he wants this so much; he’s so fucking desperate to tear Patrick to pieces.

David sits up, brings his hands to Patrick’s ass and pulls his hips in closer. Patrick is _writhing_ in David’s lap now, grinding and rubbing himself against David’s body, swaying side to side. Patrick’s gyrating his hips, and David’s brain maybe melts a little as he realizes that Patrick’s trying to get David’s fingers closer to the cleft of his ass. He whines each time the tip of David’s middle fingers trace along the edge of his cheeks. And even though part of David wants to tease him more, make Patrick flush even harder by putting his desire into words, that part of him is overpowered by the part of David that wants to give Patrick everything he could ever desire. He reaches inside the waistband of Patrick’s pants, mutters “off off off” and tugs them down below his ass.

It only takes a couple moments for Patrick to lean off to one side and fumble his way out of his pajamas, and then he’s back, his body already glistening with sweat, solid and perfect and so _so_ _needy. _David wishes he could see this from the outside, Patrick naked and wanton in his lap, and he’s still in his PJs. Patrick cards his fingers through David’s thick hair, still longer on the sides than David would like, but _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel _incredible_ when Patrick starts to pull on it, forcing David’s mouth up toward his for a kiss.

“Now, David,” he whispers, “let me ride you now. I’ll be so good. Please.”

_Fuck. _David’s brain is definitely melting now. _This man is gonna be the death of me. I survived a fucking explosion to die like this._

“Not yet, sweetie,” David is panting now, as Patrick rubs his ass over David’s cock and smears his own precome across David’s t-shirt. “I need to open you up fi—” Patrick fucks his tongue into David’s mouth before he can finish talking, and without breaking the kiss, he tears one hand away from David’s head and brings it where David is kneading the muscles of his ass. He guides David’s fingers between his cheeks, and he’s already slippery wet from lube. He’s already prepped himself for this. David slides two fingers along his crack and presses against the sensitive, puckered skin at Patrick’s hole. He can feel Patrick pulsing at the delicate touch, and tentatively slips the tip of his middle finger inside with no resistance. _Fuck. Yes, _David thinks, _this is going to be the way I die and what a fucking way to go. _

Patrick pushes down and rocks himself back and forth on that finger. “I’m ready. Please, David, don’t make me wait any more,” and his voice is so reedy and high and small and desperate that David fucking _breaks._

“OK, yes, yes. Of course, baby,” and he’s rewarded with such a gooey, wide utterly _Patrick_ smile that he’s sure his heart is going to expand out of his ribcage. “Wanna feel you on my cock.”

David slides his pants down to free his aching erection as Patrick reaches over to get the lube from the nightstand. He pours a generous amount and slicks up David’s dick with one hand while pushing David’s chest down to the bed with the other. “Told you I would do all the work, love,” Patrick’s got his _determined _face on, and David loves him so _so_ much, and then without any fucking preamble at _all _Patrick impales himself on David’s cock.

“Holy fuck, Patrick,” David manages to sputter out.

“Said I missed you,” Patrick grunts out happily as he rocks himself on David’s dick, moving his hips in small circles. David just moans and tries to steady his breath, hoping like hell he can hold out long enough for Patrick to come.

Patrick lifts up onto his knees, coming almost completely off and then slams back down with another satisfied grunt.

“You’re gonna make me,” he gasps as Patrick starts to bounce up and down in a steady rhythm, “come too fast.”

“Don’t care,” Patrick groans, “want your come inside me.”

“_Fuck_!” David grabs for Patrick’s hips, nails digging into the tender flesh, because he’s _definitely _not gonna last like this, so he might as well make the most of it. He digs his good heelinto the bed for leverage and thrusts up into Patrick’s heat. “Yes, _fuck, _David!”

Their movements are awkward and uncoordinated at first—both a bit caught up in the sensation of this long-absent pleasure, both trying to adapt their movements to the brace on David’s leg—but eventually they find their way back to a familiar rhythm. As Patrick approaches his climax, he bends down for a kiss, a messy meeting of lips and teeth and tongues that transforms into a sharing of breath. As their rhythm quickens, the room echoes with the sounds they’ve been denied for so long—the slap of sweaty skin on skin, the headboard thumping against the wall, the breathless sighs and moans they’ve been forced to stifle, all ring out now like a loud and visceral symphony. _I’ve missed this._

Just before he falls off the edge, Patrick sighs into David’s mouth, “Love you so much.” And then he’s coming, his dick untouched, spilling between them and making a mess of David’s shirt, which thankfully, David realizes, is one of Patrick’s. And as Patrick shudders and pulses around him, David loses control and lets go, pulling Patrick’s hips down hard and shooting hot and wet deep inside his fiancé’s ass.

They stay there, sweat-slick foreheads pressing together as they pant shared breath into each other’s mouths, until their heart rates start to come down, until they’re both breathing more calmly. David feels himself start to soften inside Patrick, and gives him a gentle smack on the ass to encourage him to move. Patrick gingerly presses himself up and rolls onto his side, wrapping himself around David like glove.

“That was…wow,” David struggles to find a word powerful enough to express what he’s feeling, “that was…just _wow._”

Patrick chuckles into David’s chest, then looks up at him with those gooey, fond eyes and teasing grin. “Wow…have I rendered the verbose David Rose speechless?”

“Shut up.” David feels his mouth smushing to the left to hide the grin and is pretty sure his eyes are just as gooey and fond as Patrick’s. 

“It _was_ wow.” Patrick nips at David’s ear, noses against the hair on his temple. “And just think, your parents won’t be back for over twenty-four hours.”

“Mmm,” David snuggles in closer, “what ever will we do with all that time to ourselves?”

Patrick presses a chaste kiss to the corner of David’s mouth, but waggles his eyebrows as he pulls away. “I have some ideas.”


	27. No. 31: Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final prompt is "Embrace" and that's what happens. That's the summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FUCKER IS FINISHED Y'ALL!

“So, I’ve been thinking a lot,” Patrick begins, a bit hesitantly, unsure how to broach the subject that’s been rattling around his mind since David was in the hospital.

David quirks an eyebrow, moving his face in a way that conveys about a million more words than his loaded response. “About what?”

“Well, about…” Patrick looks down to his feet and rubs the back of his neck, the way he does when he’s feeling nervous. David most often sees this display when Patrick is shy about asking for something new he wants to try in bed (_such a bashful clam!_), but they’ve been going at it nearly nonstop since this morning, and _seriously. _The mind may be willing, but the body? The body _was _blown up a few months ago and David needs to rest.

“If this is a sex thing, I’m gonna need a nap and a snack first, sweetie.”

Patrick’s blushing now, that deep scarlet spreading across his cheeks to the tops of his ears. He looks up at David through those barely-there lashes and huffs out an awkward laugh.

“No, David, it’s not a sex thing,” he continues. “It’s, um, it’s about the wedding?” And now he’s got his serious, “take charge” face on, his brows knit together determinedly. David thinks that face is adorable.

“Anyway, I was thinking about it, and I know we haven’t talked about it yet, but I was wondering how you’d feel if,” Patrick pauses, takes in a deep gulp of air, like he’s steadying himself to ask for David’s kidney or something. His gaze is firmly set on David’s mouth as he gathers the nerve to keep going. 

Patrick brings his eyes up to meet David’s, and he’s so nervous and uncertain it reminds David of that first kiss in his car. _Such a brave little button. _“How would you feel about me, uh…me changing my name after the wedding? To Patrick…uh, Patrick Rose?”

David laughs, and then immediately brings his hand to cover his mouth because it’s not funny. He’s not laughing _at _Patrick; he’s laughing because he can’t believe that this is his life. That this beautiful, brilliant, compassionate man in front of him is asking him so nervously for something David never knew he even wanted until _right this moment._

“Are you sure?” this time, the laugh is more of a sob, like that godawful sound he made that day on Rattlesnake Point, but David doesn’t care because Patrick is nodding furiously as he snuggles in closer to David’s chest, pulling tighter into David’s embrace, and David never imagined he could have this, never dreamed in his wildest fantasies that he would ever have this much joy.

“Of course, yes,” David cries, peppering Patrick’s face with kisses everywhere his mouth can reach. “I love you, Patrick Rose.” 

**FIN**


	28. Alternate Ending CW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ARCHIVE WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH** applies to this ending. Only the whumpiest of whump fans should read this.
> 
> Please note that this is a deleted scene, an alternate ending for Whumptober that I'd put up on Tumblr last month. I had several requests to post it here, and so I'm doing it.

**MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH IN THIS ALTERNATE ENDING: BACK OUT NOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT!**

Times seems to stand still as Patrick takes it all in, the grotesque tableau spread out before him. Rose Apothecary, the place he and David had built together, nurtured alongside their blossoming romance, stands hollowed out, crumbling against the spray of the firehoses.

“David! Where’s David?” he calls out to the crowd, eyes darting frantically for any sign of his striking fiancé.

“Patrick, he’s over here!” Twyla yells over the crowd from the sidewalk in front of the cafe, waving her hands wildly.

He’s never run so fast in his life, but when he gets to her, Patrick loses all ability to support himself. His legs give out; he crumples to the ground beside David’s broken body.

“David, sweetheart, I’m here,” he leans down to kiss David’s forehead, oblivious to the dirt and blood that comes away on his lips. That doesn’t matter; nothing matters right now but the man he’s holding. The love of his life. “David, love, the ambulance is on its way. Hold on for me, please.”

“You’re here,” David’s voice is barely audible, even as Patrick crouches so bring his ear against David’s mouth. “W-will you sing our song? For me?” His unfocused eyes flutter closed as Patrick cradles his head in his arms.

Patrick blinks rapidly, unable to blink back the tears.

“I-I call you when I need you, m-my heart’s on fire,” Patrick’s voice shakes as he presses David’s head to his chest. “You come to me wild and w-wired,” he notices David’s breath has slowed down, somehow softened as it’s simultaneously grown rougher.

“You come to me, give me everything I need,” he tries to choke back the sob, tears falling on his fiancé’s face. David struggles to gasp in enough air, to fight off the swallowing darkness just a little longer. “David, I love you. Please stay with me,” Patrick begs.

A lifetime passes in the blink of an eye; Patrick sees his beautiful fiancé recover and grow stronger than ever; he sees them rebuild their store as they continue to build their lives together. In that moment, he sees it all, wants it all. Realizes that he’s not going to get it.

“I’m sorry,” David stutters as he gazes up at his beloved Patrick one final time, “I love you.”

And with that, his body grows still and cold, cradled in the warmth of his fiancé’s final embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> A hearty thank you to all the beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate souls at the Rosebudd.


End file.
